


In No Common Way

by yummysubculture



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Fantasy elements, Heian Era AU, Japanese history and mythology, M/M, Onmyoji AU, copious historical notes and reference pictures available upon request, no seriously— there is a bibliography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yummysubculture/pseuds/yummysubculture
Summary: Like the waving spraysof wisteria boughs nearthe swift river atfair Yoshino, my love flowsto you in no common way.





	In No Common Way

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t resist writing this AU— I love the Onmyoji movies too much.
> 
> Apologies to M-sensei, but what else was I going to do with a degree in classical Japanese lit?  
> Beta’d by the incomparable ryokoyuy, who makes no such apologies.
> 
> All poetry taken from Laurel Rasplica Rodd’s translation of the Kokinshū.
> 
> Now translated into [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8160757) by Bekkli!

_The Sixth Month: The Time Without Water_

Minamoto no Shoma was bored.  

He knew he should at least pretend to be hanging on the Mikado’s every word like the rest of the Ministers, with their backs stiff and their faces serious as they sat at attention before him, but it was midsummer and the heat was oppressive, even in the shade of the courtyard.  The heavy collar of his coat and his stiff lacquered hat were itchy and damp with sweat, and he could feel his hair stubbornly curling out of its topknot.

A bead of sweat rolled from the nape of his neck down into the layers of his robes.  If only he could surreptitiously nudge his hat into a slightly more comfortable position— but no, even as the thought crossed his mind, Keiji glanced over at him from his place behind the Minister of the Right, amused warning in his eyes.  

Keiji had been nothing but kind to Shoma since his arrival from Owari Province, taking his awkward younger cousin under his wing at court, introducing him to all the most fashionable people, and patiently attempting to teach him the ways of civilized society. Owari was hardly the ends of the earth, but next to the people of the capital, Shoma felt even more awkward and clueless than usual, as if he was always a step behind and only partially dressed.  He knew that the other courtiers around him were the height of refinement and class, everything he’d been sent to Keiji to learn, but he wasn’t sure why refinement had to involve quite so many layers of clothing or quite so much sitting still.

He understood why his friend, the onmyōji, avoided appearing in court whenever possible.  He couldn’t imagine Yuzuru’s mischievous smiles and constant state of motion sat well in a place like this.  

He looked over at the representatives from the Bureau of Onmyō, lined up at the side of the dais, trying not to move his head too much or too quickly.  They looked even more solemn and self-important than the other nobles in attendance, clad in black, rigidly holding their charts and scrolls. The first time he’d seen Yuzuru it had been amidst a gathering of these stuffy old crows, the bright white figured silk of his hunting costume catching Shoma’s eye from afar.  

 ✰ 

_The Fourth Month: When the Unohana Blooms_

Shoma had been looking for an out-of-the-way place to play his flute when he noticed he had no idea where exactly in the court complex he’d ended up.  As he looked around desperately for a familiar feature in the maze of corridors, he saw a gathering of onmyōji in their black court robes surrounding a striking figure in white at the center, laughing and gesticulating gracefully with a blue and purple fan.

He edged closer, tucking his small frame behind a large column and trying not to think of what he’d say if he were discovered eavesdropping.

One of the black-clad men, a scowling older man that Shoma knew to be Gengorō, the Head Onmyōji, was pointing an accusing finger at the man in white.

“If you truly are as powerful as they say, Master Yuzuru, then give us a demonstration. Bring me a flower from over there,” he gestured over the railing and into the South Garden about twenty feet away, “without touching it.”

So, the man in white must be the famed Hanyū Yuzuru!  Shoma had heard stories of the Yin Yang master, even in Owari, but he’d imagined a puffed-up old man, like Gengorō.  In reality, Yuzuru was young and slender, his lithe build evident even under the voluminous silk of his robes, with a long white neck and delicate, vulpine features.  Even though Shoma had scoffed at the rumors about Yuzuru’s parentage, upon seeing his face he thought to himself that surely only a kitsune could look so enchanting.

Yuzuru’s smile dimmed and his face turned pensive.  The simple clarity of his emotions was like a breath of fresh air to Shoma after the false smiles and practiced calm of the other court nobles. Yuzuru cocked his head to the side seriously, as if Gengorō had asked him to commit a grave sin.

“It would be a shame to pick the last asagao of the season. Especially without young Lady Wakaba to give permission.  What if she were planning a final flower-viewing before the summer rains? It may be only a single blossom, but who am I to end its life on a whim?”

Gengorō smirked.  “If you cannot do it, you need only say so and we will leave you be, Great Master.”  Disdain was evident in his tone. “Only, it would then be my duty to inform Lady Wakaba that she has taken a charlatan into her confidence.”

“If you insist,” Yuzuru said in a calm voice, with just a hint of a sigh, and raised two fingers to his lips.  He muttered quietly, using words Shoma had never heard before, brought his raised hand slowly out towards the garden, then swept his arm out to the side sharply.  A sudden breeze shook the garden, tearing the flower cleanly from its stem and floating it over to Yuzuru, where it drifted lazily into his open palm. He handed it gently to the Head Onmyōji, who dropped it in disgust, while the others looked on in shock and horror.

Then Yuzuru did something truly horrifying— he looked up straight into Shoma’s eyes and grinned like he was sharing a secret.  Shoma blushed fiercely and slid down to the floor below the railing, hopelessly crumpling the train of his new coat.

 ✰

The next time Shoma had a free moment from his neverending social obligations as a new arrival to the court, he asked Keiji about Yuzuru.

“A powerful onmyōji, all in white, laughing at Master Gengorō? Yes, that must be Master Yuzuru.  He’s most impertinent. There is all manner of gossip about him in court, some more flattering than others, but he seems like a good man, if an odd one.”

He paused, and Shoma was relieved to see a mischievous smile cross his cousin’s face.

“I must admit, I love to watch him make old Master Gengorō sputter and scowl.  It’s most entertaining— he looks like a bullfrog in a tall hat!”

Keiji laughed and Shoma fully relaxed for the first time since arriving at the capital, sprawling out more comfortably and even pouring himself some of the sake that one of Keiji’s servants had left with them.

“If you’d like a reason to meet Master Yuzuru, there’s a favor I’ve been meaning to ask of him.  I recently acquired an antique flute, which I’d been planning to give to you as a welcoming present, but after it entered my possession, I realized that it could not make a sound.  I cannot see how this could be if not for some kind of curse, so I meant to take it to Master Yuzuru both to see if he might be able to lift the curse and to ensure it does not bring ill fortune and evil spirits upon our house.”  

His tone was light— clearly he didn’t think the flute was much of a threat despite his dire words, though Keiji had never taken stories of magic and demons very seriously.

“If he can lift the curse and you can manage not to hide from him this time, you will get two gifts — a new flute and a chance to meet Master Yuzuru properly.”

Shoma was unsure.  He’d never interfered with magic of any kind before and getting involved with a cursed flute sounded like more trouble than it would be worth.  He turned to music to escape the turmoil of complex social interactions and outside expectations, to create a place where he was completely in control.  Bringing magic and intrigue into his precious realm of calm and solitude was an uncomfortable prospect on the whole, but the memory of Yuzuru’s bright smile and laughing eyes made a small part of him think it might just be worth it.

 ✰

Not wanting to lose heart, the very next morning, he took Keiji’s oxcart and a retinue of servants out to Master Yuzuru’s house, which stood just beyond the city gates.  Both the ox and the servants got increasingly nervous as they approached, and Shoma, uncomfortable with ordering people around, ended up dismissing them back to Keiji’s and making the rest of the journey on foot.

The house was spacious and well-kept, but now that Shoma was getting used to Heian-kyō, it didn’t seem particularly remarkable, especially for one of Yuzuru’s exalted rank.  The only signs that it was home to a great onmyōji were the large, five-pointed stars carved into the doors of the entry gate.

As he approached the gate, Shoma paused and fidgeted with the hanging sleeve of his coat, wishing he hadn’t sent Keiji’s men away.  Now that he was faced with the reality of calling upon Master Yuzuru, his earlier curiosity felt childish and reckless. He fought the urge to turn back.

Suddenly, as if sensing his reluctance, the doors opened on their own, revealing an extraordinary private garden.

A dainty serving girl appeared at the gate, about the same age as Lady Wakaba and just as lovely, and gestured wordlessly for Shoma to come in.  Nodding dumbly, he followed her in silence.  She was wearing an elaborate robe over many pale-colored layers that complimented her petal-like complexion. Her feet made no sound as she led him through another maze of colonnades.  Wonderful, Shoma thought, another impossibly graceful beauty to make him appear all the more oafish and rude. Worse still, the beautiful girl was taller than Shoma, even in her bare feet.

They reached the main veranda overlooking the garden and there was the great Hanyū Yuzuru, reclining in the best position to view the camellias.  Hearing a giggle, Shoma turned back in surprise, only to find the serving girl had vanished and the giggle had come from the man on the veranda before him.

“Minamoto no Shoma, is it? Come! Sit with me.  Have a drink.”

Shoma turned back in time to see Yuzuru pull a small paper doll made from a fine Chinese paper the color of peach blossoms from out of his robe, while, with his other hand, he brought two fingers to his lips and whispered like he had at the palace.  To Shoma’s surprise, the doll transformed into another beautiful serving girl, who looked at Shoma, smiled sweetly, and scurried off into the house, presumably to fetch refreshments.

Shoma drew back slightly, as mysteriously appearing and disappearing women were a good deal more shocking than the earlier trick with the flower.  He could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment at his lack of manners. While he hesitated, the serving girl returned with a tray of sake. Another whisper from Yuzuru and she returned to her paper form.

“Come on! I can imagine what you might have heard about me, but I won’t bite.  Or turn you into anything.”

“You just make that lady vanish!” Shoma blurted before he could stop himself. Yuzuru threw his head back and laughed, his eyes crinkling with mirth and his thin shoulders shaking. Even in his apprehension, Shoma was drawn to the sight and sound, and he carefully stepped onto the veranda to take a seat across from the onmyōji.

“Peach Blossom and Morning Glory, who showed you in, are shikigami —  servant gods. I call them from the spirit world to assist me and keep me company, then I release them.  I could not make you disappear,” he explained. Taking in Shoma’s expression, he cocked his head and added slyly,  “even if I wanted to.”

“Are you truly the child of a fox woman?” Shoma found himself speaking without thinking once more.  His tongue seemed to loosen terribly around the onmyōji, who laughed again.

“That is what they say, isn’t it?  Do you think I look like a fox, Lord Shoma?”

Instead of an answer Shoma blushed again, another thing he seemed to do unbidden around Yuzuru, and quickly took a drink of the sake Peach Blossom had brought.  It was cool, crisp, and unusually refreshing. He wondered if it might be enchanted.

Remembering suddenly the purpose of his visit, he reached into his robe for Keiji’s flute.  He half-bowed, awkward in his current position, and handed it to Yuzuru.

“My cousin Keiji purchased this flute from a travelling merchant from Musashi.  He’d intended to give it to me as a gift, but it makes no sound when played. He thought it may be cursed.”

Shoma had thought he would be embarrassed talking about such superstitious things as cursed flutes, but, here in this strange garden with this strange man, it all seemed much more possible.  Yuzuru took the flute gently, his fingers brushing against Shoma’s. They were delicate and cool to the touch, and Shoma couldn’t help but think of how they’d been pressed to his lips just a moment before.

Yuzuru considered the flute carefully.  Holding it in his left hand, he moved his right hand over it, whispering.  He handed it back to Shoma.

"This flute is very old.  Well over one hundred years old, in fact."  He bowed his head slightly towards the instrument in respect.  "What do you know about tsukumogami, Lord Shoma?"

Shoma paused, trying to remember the stories he had heard back in Owari. "Objects that come to life after a hundred years? Because they are upset that they haven't been used? But wouldn't a tsukumogami flute make more noise, not less?"

Yuzuru nodded brightly.  "Yes, but this is no ordinary tsukumogami.  Try to play it."

Shoma brought the flute to his lips, but it remained silent.  Yuzuru said a few words, circling his hand in front of it and suddenly a clear note sounded, followed by a few more, creating a simple tune.

Shoma almost dropped it in surprise. "But I didn't— I didn't play that! I've never heard that melody before!"

"Neither have I, but it must be of importance to the tsukumogami.  Perhaps if we discover its origin, we will know what the flute is trying to say."  Yuzuru hopped up, striding farther into the house. Shoma scurried to keep up.

Yuzuru stopped abruptly in a room full of scrolls and books.  An armillary sphere sat in one corner next to large charts of the heavens and geomantic diagrams.  He flitted around the room, examining and dismissing items without a discernible pattern, before pulling out a large, dusty tome.  He sank to the floor and immediately engrossed himself in reading. Shoma hovered uncomfortably, trying not to gawk at all the strange things around him.  Every so often, a book or scroll would fly across the room and into Yuzuru's hand, which took some getting used to. Even more distressingly, Yuzuru was looking at the ancient materials with rapt attention, chewing a little on his bottom lip in concentration.  Shoma shifted his weight from foot to foot and fought yet another rising blush.

There was a light tug on his sleeve and Shoma turned to find a shikigami, this one dressed in pale purple.  She gestured at Yuzuru, who seemed utterly lost to the world, and then back out into the corridor. Shoma looked back at the onmyōji, who was devouring what looked like a series of maps illustrated with monstrous faces.  He coughed awkwardly and Yuzuru looked up, eyes wide as if he were surprised to find Shoma still there.

"I have found a promising text about demon music, but this will take time.  Learn what you can and return in five days time when the taboo on travel in this direction has lifted. Then we will see where your flute will take us next."  He smiled at Shoma broadly, and with such clear excitement that Shoma felt no slight at being dismissed so abruptly. "Wisteria will see you out."

Only when he'd left the strange house, and its great, star-embellished doors had closed behind him, did he remember that he had dismissed Keiji's oxcart.  He adjusted his hat and set off on foot towards the city walls, grateful for some time alone to consider all that he had seen.

 ✰

The following day was Lady Satoko's moon viewing party and Shoma brought along a working flute in the hopes that playing the mysterious tune for the people in attendance would help them learn what it was.  Beyond that, he was grateful for an excuse to stick to music over having to compose poetry. Shoma was an abysmal poet— words were really not his strong suit in any form— so it was a relief to know he would have his flute when he was inevitably called upon to perform.

He lurked at the edges of the party for as long as propriety would allow, but when Lord Sōta kept insisting that Shoma contribute to the poetics of the evening, he finally pulled out his flute and shyly suggested he accompany the beauty of the moon with music instead.

After he played the tsukumogami’s melody, several partygoers remarked on its loveliness. When Shoma replied that he’d heard it from afar and did not know its origins himself, even more people gathered around him, intrigued by the novelty of a mystery tune.  No one could identify it, but Lord Takahiko thought it sounded like something he’d heard in Suruga. His wife agreed— they’d surely heard a similar tune while passing through Suruga on their way to their summer lodgings at Lake Shōji.

Shoma nodded politely.  He played little while longer and accepted more than a few drinks before making his excuses and leaving the party.

He returned to Keiji's later than he'd planned, flushed with victory and sake.  He found Keiji still awake, finishing some paperwork.

"How was the party?  Did Nobunari ‘compose’ the same poem about the ‘tumbling rapids of heaven’s river’ that he does every time he has too much to drink?" Shoma shook his head. "Pity. Did you learn anything about your flute song?"

"Yes! Lord Takahiko recalled hearing something similar in Suruga.  That's not much to go on, but I'm sure Yuzuru will be able to make something of it."

Keiji grinned teasingly.  "I'm sure he will. Our aunt has a summer estate near Miho no Matsubara in Suruga Province, remember?  You should write to her and ask if you can visit to escape the heat. I'm sure she wouldn’t mind if you brought an esteemed colleague like Master Yuzuru."  He arched an eyebrow at Shoma, who scowled drunkenly. Keiji did have a point, though, their aunt's hospitality would be a wonderful opportunity to investigate.

When he returned to Yuzuru's house on the fifth day to share his plan, Yuzuru was equally excited.  "I think we've each discovered half of this mystery," he exclaimed, brandishing a scroll. "I studied the flute and the energies around it further, and they are definitely more heavenly than demonic. The flute itself may be a tsukumogami, but it also has a strong connection to the Heavenly Realm.  Once we get to Suruga, if we look for both the melody and heavenly energy, I’m sure we’ll find what we need.”

He summoned more shikigami than Shoma had seen all at once and they began to bustle about, preparing for the journey.  Shoma was unsurprised to find a silent ox at the gates, drawing a comfortable carriage and attended by silent men, ready to take them to Suruga.  He knew without asking that the shikigami had prepared for his journey as well, allowing them to leave immediately, and that word would be sent to inform Keiji of their departure.

✰

As soon as they’d settled in Suruga, the Lady of the House insisted on holding a banquet in Shoma’s honor.  Shoma and his aunt had never been close, but it was not often she had visitors from Heian-kyō, and she was eager to show them off.  Shoma protested, but Yuzuru reminded him that a large gathering would be another excellent chance to see if anyone knew the origins of the flute’s song.

He dutifully played for Lady Mihoko’s friends and acquaintances, but none knew the song beyond a passing familiarity.  Shoma moved onto other tunes, to the delight of Lady Mihoko and of Yuzuru, who stood to the side of the proceedings, having made himself scarce after dinner to ensure Shoma and his flute had the complete attention of the other guests.

When their eyes met across the courtyard, it was electric— Shoma had all of Yuzuru’s attention and, emboldened by the music, he openly reveled in it.  He added a playful trill to his song and Yuzuru grinned. He softened it to something slow and sweet and Yuzuru sighed, small spots of pink coloring his cheeks.  

It was not until Shoma had exhausted his musical repertoire, and Lady Mihoko’s household had exhausted its supply of wine, that the party began to wind down and the guests began to leave.  As the evening’s festivities drew to a close and Shoma was leaving for his room, a servant stopped him. “Apologies for the imposition, my Lord, but I know of the tune that you played. I don’t know what it is called, or who wrote it, but I heard it often in my youth by the Shrine at Miho.”  Shoma thanked him profusely, and the man bowed and returned to his duties while Shoma hurried down the hall to give Yuzuru the news.

 ✰

The next day, they paid a visit to the shrine, where an elderly monk showed them in.  He had never seen their flute before, though he knew its song well.

“From time to time, it comes to people here.  They play or hum it, not knowing what it is or where it comes from.  It is such a lovely tune, like something from Heaven.”

“I do sense a great heavenly energy here.”  Yuzuru noted, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and whispered one of his spells.  When he opened his eyes, he was smiling. “A tennyo. A maiden of the Heavenly Realm.”

“Well…” the monk said, thoughtfully, “we do have a painting of a tennyo.”  He led them to a room deep within the temple where a large painting of a beautiful woman dancing covered the wall.  Her robe was many-colored and patterned with feathers. “There is a story in Miho about a man who captured this tennyo by stealing her robe.”

Yuzuru took the flute and closed his eyes, repeating the spell from before.

“I can perform a ritual to allow the spirit of this flute to speak through you,” he said to Shoma, “if you are willing.”  Shoma nodded, glad to be of some use.

At Yuzuru’s instruction, Shoma knelt facing the painting and held the flute in his outstretched hands.  Yuzuru kept his eyes open as he chanted this time, keeping eye contact with Shoma, keeping him calm. He took a paper charm from his robe and laid it on the flute.  Holding it in place with one hand, he took the first two fingers of his other hand and pressed them to Shoma’s lips. Shoma trembled for a moment, then went still.

When he spoke, it was in a voice not quite his own.  “I was made long ago by a man named Shunnosuke. He named me Itsuba for the five birds of Ling Lun.” He could still see Yuzuru and the old monk, but his view of them was distorted, as if he were seeing them through a cloudy haze.  The tennyo on the wall seemed to sway, coming into clear focus.

“This man, Shunnosuke, was playing me one day when he saw a beautiful woman dancing to my song. She was so perfect and enchanting that he thought she must surely be a Heavenly Maiden. He looked about for her feathered robe and, when he saw it, he took it for himself, playing my song to distract her.

He took her feathered robe, her precious hagoromo, and without it, she could not return to the Heavenly Realm.  She was bound to him so long as he had it. I could not weep for her, but my song was never the same.

Shunnosuke put me in a chest and forgot about me.  As the years passed and I became more than a flute, I swore that I would never sound again out of respect for the tennyo’s suffering.” A tear rolled down Shoma’s cheek and he wasn’t sure if it came from the spirit or if it was his own.

“That’s not the whole story!” the monk interjected.

Yuzuru bade him tell the rest of the tale and the monk began to chant, the tones similar to Itsuba’s song.  “After a while, Shunnosuke asked the tennyo to dance for him as she had on the day they met, but she would not. She said she could not dance without her hagoromo.  

He did not want to give it to her, but she promised she would not run away.  He gave her back her feathered robe and she did dance for him. She danced more beautifully than anything he had ever seen before as she ascended back to the Realm of Tendō.

Shunnosuke was moved and shamed that he had tried to tether her to the Earth.  He came to this shrine and became a monk. He painted this scroll, but he could never capture the beauty of her dance.  He regretted what he had done until the end of his days and rejoiced that she was free to dance in Heaven.” The monk finished his tale and bowed toward Itsuba.  The painting behind him shimmered and the tennyo seemed to smile.

Satisfied, Itsuba’s spirit poured out of the flute in a curl of lightly scented smoke, leaving behind the delicate scent of lotus leaf incense. It wafted over the monk and absorbed into the painting behind him.  Shoma, suddenly exhausted, slumped to the floor and felt the world slip away on a perfumed cloud.

When he awoke, he was cradled in Yuzuru’s arms, still on the floor of the shrine.  He blinked sleepily and Yuzuru beamed down at him, proud and relieved. His arms tightened around Shoma briefly before letting go and helping him back to his feet.

“Itsuba’s voice has been restored.  I tested it, but it is really you who should be playing it— it is truly yours now, a worthy instrument for a worthy musician.”  Shoma blushed as Yuzuru continued, “in fact, I would be most pleased if you could play for me as often as possible. My garden is always open for a recital.”

He passed over the flute, his hands once again lingering to brush against Shoma’s.

✰ 

In the weeks following their return to the capital, Shoma made a habit of spending most evenings with Yuzuru, gossiping about the happenings of the court, telling each other stories, and sometimes just gazing into the garden until the sun had set and Shoma had to return to the city.

One such evening, Shoma returned to Yuzuru’s house and Morning Glory led him to the veranda where Yuzuru and their sake lay waiting.  He’d come to treasure his visits, to treasure Yuzuru, more than he’d thought possible. Laying next to that marvelous garden, listening to Yuzuru’s laughter as the sky faded into night, he almost understood why people wrote poetry.

Instead, he took out Itsuba and began to play, still standing in the corridor.

The tune began as a variation of a popular komagaku tune, but resolved itself into something slower and more plaintive, filled with longing.  Shoma’s hands began to tremble, but he made himself play on, trying to convey everything he was too shy to say. When he finished, he felt deflated, as if he’d poured his soul out and left it at his friend’s feet.

Shoma shuffled forward, awkwardly, until he was standing right in front of Yuzuru.  When he met Yuzuru’s eyes, they were wide with disbelief and… hope? He dropped heavily to his knees just as Yuzuru raised himself up and then they were face to face.

Like he did at the shrine, Yuzuru raised his fingers to Shoma’s lips, but this time it was not a spell, but a caress.  Gently, he trailed them up and back across Shoma’s face until he was cupping Shoma’s cheek in his palm. His hand trembled slightly, and that was enough to break down Shoma’s control completely.  He surged forward, taking Yuzuru into his arms, and laid him gently down on the floor of the veranda, pressing his face into Yuzuru’s long neck and inhaling his scent, one hand cradling the back of Yuzuru’s head, guarding it from the floor.

Yuzuru’s hands clutched at Shoma’s robes, and he gasped as he felt Shoma's lips on his neck, kissing down to where it met his shoulder, nosing his collar aside.  Panting, Yuzuru pushed Shoma away and Shoma froze, terrified he had overstepped, but Yuzuru fumbled at the closure of his hunting costume, shedding the outer coat and revealing inner robes of royal and violet blues, already mussed.  His hat had come off and lay forgotten on the floor and his hair was starting to come loose, but he didn't seem to care— all of his attention was on Shoma.

Encouraged, Shoma hastily removed his own coat and hat. His inner robes were dishevelled and his hair was a mess, but he could think of nothing but the sight before him.  He reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of Yuzuru’s collar, peeling back the layered silk. Yuzuru arched into his touch with a whispery moan as the robes slid down his shoulder.  Shoma stared as more of Yuzuru’s pale skin was revealed, frozen in place until Yuzuru begged him to continue. “Please… Shoma…”

He leaned forward, supporting himself with one hand as he resumed kissing Yuzuru’s neck, the other scrambling to untie the sashes of his hakama, his arm tangling with Yuzuru’s nearly frantic efforts to release him from his own.  When Shoma came up for air, Yuzuru wound his arms around Shoma’s neck and pulled him down until Shoma’s body was flush against his own, Shoma’s warm weight pressing him into smooth wood of the veranda floor.

Remembering where they were, Shoma paused, lifting himself up on one forearm just enough to meet Yuzuru’s gaze.  “Should we really… out here?” he asked, breathless, and Yuzuru laughed. “Why not? We're all alone here.” He ran his hand down Shoma’s side, slipping inside his robes at the hip where they had been pulled free of the hakama and running his hand up the smooth skin he found underneath. “And I don't think I can wait another moment.”

Shoma’s head drooped down, embarrassed and overwhelmed, but Yuzuru tucked a loose strand of hair behind Shoma's ear, and pulled his chin up, bringing them eye to eye.  His other hand, burning hot against Shoma's skin, traveled deeper into his robes, brushing past his hips and down to grab hold of his ass, pulling Shoma farther up Yuzuru’s body. The motion brought their hips together and Shoma felt a little faint at the sensation.

“Yuzu— Yuzuru…” he whined, unsure what he wanted to say, just that he needed Yuzuru to hear it.  Yuzuru smiled and kissed his forehead, his scrunched-up eyelids, his lips. He moved both hands down to Shoma's hips and began a slow grind.

Once he'd caught his breath, Shoma lifted himself up on both arms and took control of the pace, each successive roll of their hips and brush of their cocks through heavy brocade only stoking the fire under his skin. Panting, he shifted his weight to free up one of his arms and used his free hand to spread Yuzuru’s inner robes wide open, baring him to Shoma's hungry gaze.

When he'd looked his fill and Yuzuru was squirming with anticipation, he kissed slowly down Yuzuru's chest and stomach, pausing to tease his nipples, his belly button, the tender creases of his hips. Yuzuru’s movements had caused his unbound hakama to ride down, and Shoma pulled it the rest of the way aside, revealing his cock, rigid with need. He brushed his hand against it, trailing his fingers up the length, and Yuzuru whined, high in his throat.

He pushed his own hakama aside and grasped both their cocks in his hand, savoring the hot slide of skin on skin. Yuzuru was running his hands up and down his back, long fingers grasping and blunt nails scratching.

Shoma twisted his wrist and Yuzuru threw his head back with a cry. Shoma took advantage of his smaller size to tuck his head into Yuzuru's neck without losing their connection, mouthing at his neck and biting as their thrusts became more erratic.

“Yuzu…” he began again, softly, reverently, and Yuzuru came, back bowing into a graceful arch, painting his stomach with his release. Shoma followed a moment later as Yuzuru's hand trailed down through the sticky mess to join Shoma's on his cock.

Spent, he sat back on his knees, sitting lightly on Yuzuru’s thighs, and looked down at the mess they'd made with such a dazed expression that Yuzuru began to laugh.

It was a small giggle at first, but soon they were both laughing, collapsing to lie side by side on the cool, wood floor, clinging to each other in spite of their ruined, sweaty clothes and sticky skin.

Yuzuru closed his eyes and whispered a short spell summoning their robes to cushion and cover them.  Another spell took care of the lanterns, and, by the light of the summer moon, they drifted off to a deep and sated sleep.

 ✰

Shoma awoke to the sound of birds singing out in the garden.  

He knew that he should probably return home soon before his absence was noticed. He would have to make excuses to Keiji and even worse, he would need to compose a morning after letter with a suitable poem.  Maybe he could get away with a poem someone else had written to cover his failings in that area. There was one he’d heard Prince Daisuke recite recently, how did it start? _Although we part, I am filled with happiness..._

Yuzuru was snoring softly, his face artlessly burrowed into Shoma’s arm, his body twined around him.  As Shoma stirred, worrying, Yuzuru snuffled, wrinkling up his nose and pressing even closer under their layered robes.  Shoma realized it didn’t matter at all what he could or should put in a morning after letter, as he had no intention of leaving until long after Yuzuru awoke.  At least not until some other matter inevitably pried him away.

 ✰

_The Sixth Month, Still Midsummer_

Thoughts of Yuzuru and the previous night were certainly more diverting than the Administrator of the Treasury’s report.  Perhaps even more diverting than the sweltering heat. Shoma tried not to squirm or blush as the Administrator droned on. He tried, instead, to empty his thoughts.

This plan backfired as well and Shoma started to doze, eyelids increasingly heavy in the stifling air. He dreaded the inevitable moment when his head began to droop and everyone would discover his shame, but even that soon melted away.

A small, sharp slap to the face woke him with a start as a sudden and isolated breeze wove about him, whipping the tail of his hat right into his face. He could almost hear the accompanying whisper of the spell and he smiled, straightening his back.

The sooner he made it through the rest of that day’s audience, the sooner he could return to Yuzuru’s garden.

 ✰

 _Although we part_  
_I am filled with happiness_  
_For now I wonder_  
_Whom I might have thought I loved_  
_Before we two met tonight_


End file.
